


an understanding of fire

by someoneplsloverobbierotten



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: (just a small one), (there is no actual death/attempts), Getting Together, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pre-Relationship, References to Suicide, who even knows what this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 18:37:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14118459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someoneplsloverobbierotten/pseuds/someoneplsloverobbierotten
Summary: Newt loves his brain, he really does. It's so smart, so incredible - it's gotten him so far in life; school, MIT, the PPDC... he wouldn't change it for the world.Even when it's on fire.





	an understanding of fire

**Author's Note:**

> my personal hc for newt is that he has either bpd, adhd, or some mix of both.
> 
> this? I have no idea what it is. it just is. i wrote 90% of this… at least 2 years ago, in high school, and only just got around to fashioning some sort of beginning for it.
> 
> (also fun fact: i am watching the first pacific rim my mother as i post this)

Your brain is an incredible, wonderful thing.

It's gotten you into MIT - one of the youngest _ever,_ thank you very much - and to countries you'd only ever seen on postcards your mother sent you whenever she landed a new gig. It's gotten you six doctorates and tenure at MIT at only 26, and it's gotten you the position of the number one world expert in kaiju physiology and biology and head of the PPDCs kaiju research division.

It's gotten you so far in life, that big beautiful brain of yours. You love it. You love the loudness of it, the _brightness_ of it, the way it holds so much information. It's so _different_ compared to everybody else's, so _special._ You wouldn't trade it for the world. It's given you so many good fuckin' things. No one understands your brain like you do, _no-one._ It seems like a stupid thing to say, of _course_ no one knows your brain like you, it's _your fuckin' brain,_ but _fuck,_ you've had so many people who think they've got you pegged, who think they _know_ you. They act like you're predictable, like they know what's going on inside your head and you laugh at them every single time because oh no, oh _fuck no_ they _don't._ They don’t have a goddamn _clue_ what it's like in your head, all the lights and words and pictures constantly flashing and bashing each other around. It's like being on heroine and ecstasy and crack all at once and you love it. Wouldn't trade it for the world.

People don't know a goddamn _thing._

Your brain is incredible - _you're_ incredible, you're a motherfuckin _rockstar_ , and that’s what you tell all those other people when they treat you like shit. That's what you tell them when they scoff at you and deem your research irrelevant - _who_ ** _cares_** _what the kaiju eat, tell me how we can_ ** _kill_** _them_ \- and that’s what you tell them when they see your sick tats and _sneer._

_"Jokes on you dude, I'm gonna be a rockstar."_

It's what you try and try and try try try try so hard to tell yourself when the Bad Days come.

On the Bad Days, your brain stops being the big beautiful thing that got you so far in life, that opened up so many wonderful possibilities for you. Instead it sets itself on fire and drowns you, it rips you apart from the inside out, tearing out everything you have been or ever will be, shredding your very existence until you are nothing other than your own blood, dripping down every crevice in your cracked and splintered venire. There is no one, _no one_ that can fix you when you’re like this. They can try and hold you together as best they can, but it’s like putting Bandaids over cracks in a dam. Eventually, the walls will break, and more often than not, nothing survives the crushing, inescapable waves that follow.

Times like this, the ink on your and chest burns like acid, and their beauty fills you with a hatred you never thought you could muster for anything in your life. You hate your own skin, and you hate yourself for marking it with evil and monsters.

Every cell in your body aches, and every second you stay awake your mind is filled with voices, whispering things you don’t want to hear, never wanted to hear, and never want anyone else to hear. It makes your brain such a darker place, and sometimes it astounds you in its essence, because you didn’t think it could get any darker.

It does.

Somehow, you always come out the other end alive. You always wake up one morning and find that it’s over, that the past days are only memories and not just taunting reminders of the hell you’re going to have to go through for another day, and then maybe another day after that. Honestly, most of these days you weep with relief. You’ve done it, you’ve survived. Again.

You always survive, even when you don’t want to.

Most of the time, you _do_ want to. You _do_. You want and you want but sometimes that just isn’t enough.

Still, you always come out the other side of the tunnel; eyes wide and brain burning to test out some new theory or idea, with a body that just can’t keep still and a mouth that just can’t stop speaking. Mania shows in every step you take, in every sporadic twitch of your fingers and the almost insane shift of your eyes as they flit around the room taking in everything, everything everything _everything_ and never stopping.

You run your hands through your hair more times than you can count, and you know that if it wasn’t for the kaiju blue and various contamination risks your nails would be bitten down to the quick (though sometimes even that doesn’t stop you.)

You blast your music as loud as it can go in an effort to drown out your own brain. Hermann hates it, tells you to turn it off, and when that doesn’t work; turn it down.

You don’t care. He doesn’t understand, he’ll _never_ understand.

Hermann’s mind must be beautiful in its eternal peace and quiet, firing off equations left and right, everything slotting into place so goddamn _neatly_.

It must be hell.

Sometimes you can’t stand the thought of Hermann’s mind, you really can’t. You can’t imagine the quiet of his brain in your own, can’t imagine anything other than the cacophony of bright light and loud noise, the multitude of half-finished theories and ideas and thoughts and sentences and words that scream through your mind like race cars round the track. His mind is his essence, his mind is everything, and you can’t imagine it being anything other than what it is, like you can't imagine being anything other than what _you_ are.

God, if that racetrack of thoughts stopped for even a second… you can’t even think, you don’t _want_ to think, you could lose _everything,_ you could lose _you_ -

Sometimes, though, you look at Hermann and his big beautifully peaceful brain and you yearn. You yearn and you want and you desire that quiet, that peace and stillness that leaves room for perfect thoughts and perfect equations that you can stop at any time; put on the backburner and come to later without it eating at your very soul like acid every second of every hour of every day. That’s what you wish for when everything just won’t stop won’t stop can’t stop won’t stop, when there are so many things rattling round your skull you feel like you’re going to scream, or explode, or both, and drowning them out just _doesn’t work_ , that’s when you look at Hermann’s brain and you _yearn_.

These are the days that you actually take your meds.

They don’t work for long.

 

* * *

 

One day, your music is so loud that you can barely think.

It’s exactly how you want it.

Hermann comes over and tells you to turn it off, and you raise your head from Raythe’s intestines to tell him where he can shove it - because he doesn’t understand, will never understand - when you look up and see the dark under Hermann’s eyes, and the dark _in_ them. His jaw is clenched and his fingers clutch the handle of his cane so hard that that his entire hand has turned white, knuckles looking like they’re going to fracture any second.

You take a quick glance of the workspace behind Hermann and see that his boards are covered in white chalk dust, so much so that you can barely see the equations on them. Most of the equations are repeats anyway, with large portions furiously scrubbed out. You also notice that everything has been moved, again, and that’s- what? Four times in the last seven hours? Everything on Hermann’s side of the lab is in a completely different place from the last time you picked your head up, and once again everything has been carefully placed at new and perfect angles - proper feng-shui shit.

You look back at Hermann and for just one second, you wonder if perhaps his brain isn’t as beautiful and perfect as you first thought it.

You don’t quite know how to feel about that.

You plug your headphones into your pod and clip it to your belt. You turn the volume up to full. Hermann doesn’t say anything, merely turns and limps back to his workspace, but the look of relief in his eyes nearly buckles you.

 

* * *

 

You Drift with a kaiju brain and it nearly kills you. You learn things, of course, that was the whole _point_ , duh, and okay- yeah, maybe there was a chance you wouldn’t wake up again afterwards and maybe you were way more okay with that than you should have been, but you _do_ wake up again - in Hermann’s arms.

You have blood exploding in your eye and dripping from your nose and _God_ , your _brain_ \- the things you _know_ \- is going crazy right now, things screaming inside your head- and, oh, are they _things_ , not just you and oh god you’re never going to be alone again are you this is it this is what it's going to be like forever isn’t it oh god they’re so loud - and Hermann is there holding you and telling you how bloody dumb you are, one hand scrabbling to pull the PONS off your head before he cradles your face in his hands-

His thumb brushes gently under your eye. It’s nice.

But you have to tell the Marshall what you know.

 

* * *

 

You Drift again, but with Hermann this time, because he offered - he offered - and all at once your brain is quieter and louder than it has ever been; the cacophony of your thoughts is gone, but has been replaced, instead, by the hivemind. You are terrified, _terrified_ , but also strangely exhilarated, because though the kaiju roar into every cell and every synapse in your body, you are _anchored_ , in a way you have never _ever_ been before because Hermann, _Hermann_ is there, and you crash through the blue together.

You see everything, feel everything - the buzz of the needle for your first tattoo; the pain and the beautiful, beautiful expanse of colour that stained your skin afterwards; your first day at school; leaving Germany; Hermann leaving Germany, the tears man, the tears;  your first kiss with Jeane; Hermann’s first day at school, and then high school - three years earlier than everyone else, rock on man, twinsies; Karla pushing Bastien out of a tree, Karla then getting into trouble; your first time being jammed into a locker; Hermann’s first swirlie; your first punch, both thrown and received; that first taste of coffee that got you absolutely _hooked_ for the rest of your life oh man oh man oh _man_ ; _Lars Gottlieb_ ; your first job; Hermann handing in that first homework assignment, _god_ was it perfect; watching Godzilla for the first time; Hermann’s first kiss with Kristofer; sketching out the plans for your four part tattoo with Godzilla, Mothra, King Ghidorah, and Rodan-

And then, slowly, the images bleed together until you can no longer tell who’s memory is who’s, because they all feel like yours; opticians; pain; doctors, god, so many doctors, you hate them we hate them; you have to write that equation again, its correct but not right, rub it out start again; you learn how to set up a bong quickly and young, how to roll a joint even younger; meeting Vanessa for the first time, on that cold winter morning, with coffee and understanding; fire in your brain; K-day; _"Es tut mir unglaublich Leid, Herr Gottlieb, aber wir wissen ehrlich nicht, ob Ihr Sohn in der Lage sein wird zu gehen, wenn er älter ist,”_ but you showed them, yeah, you showed them buddy, you rock, you go, Rockstar, you showed ‘em; letters, letters so many letters; kissing guys; your first paper on the effects of kaiju blue and ways it can be neutralised; decontamination showers; you learn how the feel of chalk becomes your favourite feeling in the world; more pain; your first day at uni; fire in your brain; still not right, write it again, rub it out start again rub it out start again; having sex with girls; coding your first jaeger; new ink; marrying Vanessa because you love her, you truly do, but not in the way a husband loves a wife - she doesn’t care though, and marries you anyway; card games with your sister; fire in your leg, your thigh, your hip, your spine; slicing into your first Kaiju; what if you left the door unlatched? you checked four times today but you just don’t know, what if, what if, what if - you go check again; meds; your first day at uni; teaching; that first breakup; there cannot be more than three plugs in a four-plug outlet at one time - you prefer no more than two, but there can be _no more_ than three - what if, what if what if what if; having a kaiju acid sac explode on you; numbers; equations; having sex with guys; scalpel; board games with your brother; successfully coding your first jaeger; drugs; the first ultra sound Vanessa sends you; moving house when you were thirteen; new cane; falling in love, and not with her; that crushing realisation that you’ll never be able to be a pilot, just because of one stupid vision problem, everything you’ve ever worked for, gone- wait, no, that’s not-

Everything is coming so hard, so fast, you can barely keep up, and there’s something in your mind - many somethings, so many somethings, kaiju, the _hivemind_ oh god what are they _planning_ it won’t work it won’t work it will never work-

Wait, no, not some _thing_ , some _one_ \- Hermann. Hermann is here with him, it’s okay it’s alright Hermann is here.

It’s Hermann. Hermann.

He’s here.

You ride it out together.

 

* * *

 

Afterwards, _after_ afterwards, after celebrations and congratulations and drinks and high fives and all that merriment and cheer because god _damn_ you won a fucking _war_ fucking _fuck_ man, we’re _rockstars_ , we _did it_ \- after that, you retreat, you and Hermann. You go back to his quarters, stupid grins still plastered on your faces, and undress. There’s no communication prior to this, you just- you both just know what to do. Herman sets his cane carefully against the bed, set so that it’s just within arms-reach, with the handle pointed inwards towards the bed and the bottom set just far enough away from the wall that it won’t cause the top to slide away and down the wall and just close enough to the wall that the bottom won't slip out and cause the cane to fall to the floor. He’s quick about setting it up, but you can tell as you get under the covers that this is a very careful and calculated move.

You can’t believe you once thought Hermann’s brain was quiet. Or peaceful.

You’ve never been more wrong about anything in your life.

Oh well, you think, as Hermann slips into bed beside you, now you know. Now you _both_ know.

You lie in the bed together, face to face, looking into each other’s eyes; red-rimmed iris into red-rimmed iris, and you see understanding in these burst blood vessels, you really do. Your silly grin fades into something gentle and warm, and you know Hermann must have found the same in your own eyes, because his grin, fades into something smaller, but no less breathtaking.

The Drift changed you, both of you, and now you understand each other.

He understands the fire in your brain, just like you understand the fire in his.

Your brain still isn’t quiet, far from it, but you don’t think it ever will be, and you’re okay with that because Hermann is here, hooking the ankle of his good leg around your own and stroking his pinkie across the back of your hand; anchoring you, just like he did during the Drift.

He can’t fix you, can still only put Bandaids over the cracks, but you don’t think he’ll get swept away when the dam breaks because you know - you _know_ \- that he isn’t planning on going anywhere any time soon.

(Neither are you.)


End file.
